The Christmas Pearl Read Online Free PDF Page A

sentimental of me. I was feeling very melancholy. And if I said anything about it, one single word, I would just be adding pepper to the pot.
    My poor spineless daughter, Barbara, meekly said, “Well, the White House has trees in every room and each one represents a theme. So I imagine if you want a new theme, Camille, why would anyone object? After all, we did decide over Thanksgiving that Camille would be in charge of the tree this year.”
    Quietly, I took a seat on the end of the sofa and decided again to hold my tongue. I did have the thought that I would not have put Camille in charge of making slice-and-bake cookies, which were another abomination of the immediate-gratification society in which we lived. She would forget the oven was on, leave the house, and it would burn down to the ground. After she burned the cookies, that is.
    “Andrew is such a baby,” Teddie said to me in hershrill voice from across the room. “He still believes in Santa Claus.”
    She repeated this several times until I worried that Andrew would start to wail. He was only eight and his beastly cousin was trying to ruin his Christmas. Just as I was on the verge of giving that child a piece of my mind, Camille spoke up.
    Abruptly, she covered Andrew’s ears and said, “Lynette? Can you please ask your daughter to stop?”
    “Camille?” George said. “Why don’t you shut up? Go take something to calm yourself down.”
    “Now see here,” Cleland said in a stern manner, and then his patriarchal stance evaporated like morning dew as he said nothing more, went to the bar, and poured yet another drink.
    In my opinion, Cleland drank too much. Once he had been quite the charmer, but over the years, he had withdrawn into himself and away from the family.
    Well, that was enough, so I stood up with the intention of turning down the music. This time I was ready to give them the lecture they had earned. But before I could reach the remote control for the stereo, I turned to see Eliza in the doorway of the room, dressed in her coat and hat over her apron. She was quite upset.
    “Whatever is the matter?” I said.
    “My daughter’s in labor…”
    “But I thought the baby was coming in February,”Barbara said, as though a baby had never been born prematurely in the history of humanity.
    Oh Lord, no! I thought and sent up a silent prayer that she would be all right.
    “The baby’s breech. That was my son-in-law on the phone. He says she’s calling loud for me!”
    “Then you have to go!” Barbara said, redeeming every false start of her life, in my eyes at least. “Go and don’t worry!”
    “Barbara!” Cleland said in a shout. “You can’t boil water! What about our dinner tomorrow and on Christmas?”
    That was an example of the long reach of my son-in-law’s sensitivity.
    “I called my friend Jewel,” Eliza said. “She says she’ll come and help you tomorrow and on Christmas day!” Then Eliza burst into tears. “Ms. Theodora? Can I see you outside for a moment?”
    “Absolutely!” I said, and hurried to her side.
    I followed her as she moved quickly down the hall and through the kitchen to the back door. Her car was parked in the gravel courtyard behind the house.
    She said, “She—Jewel, that is—she’s kinda not so easy to get along with and she wants a terrible amount of money to do this job, it being Christmas and all. I’ll pay you back, but I’ve got to go be with my girl! Please…”
    “Don’t you even think a thing about it,” I said. “Any problem you can fix with a handful of money isn’t a problem at all. Go! Scoot! Good luck and call me!” I was about to close the door when I remembered something and called, “Eliza!” I hurried down the steps to her and hugged her with all my might. “Eliza! You’re about to become a grandmother! What better or more spectacular Christmas gift could you possibly receive?”
    I stepped away. Even in the pitch-black dark I could see her smiling through her tears.